


Sometimes Healing is Talking About What Hurts (and sometimes it's telling your girlfriend's mom to get it the fuck together)

by Wakeywakey_bigmistakey



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Healing Childhood Trauma AU, One Shot, also this is from Maggie's perspective, and have absolutely no plans of doing so, canon is completely irrelevant and can't stop me, in which Eliza Danvers owns up to being a dick to Alex, mostly bc i haven't watched since s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wakeywakey_bigmistakey/pseuds/Wakeywakey_bigmistakey
Summary: You remember too much,my mother said to me recently.Why hold onto all that? And I said,Where can I put it down?orMaggie and Alex goes to Midvale and Eliza actually makes an effort with her daughter
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Sometimes Healing is Talking About What Hurts (and sometimes it's telling your girlfriend's mom to get it the fuck together)

**Author's Note:**

> Poem in summary from Anne Carson's "The Glass Essay"
> 
> Also, canon can suck my lesbian dick.  
> Eliza Danvers actually trying to become a decent parent AU

Maggie feels it before she sees it, the way Alex’s hands shake in hers. Looking at the woman besides her, she notes that it isn’t just her hands. A slight tremble goes through the DEO agent’s spine. Gathering her up in a warm embrace, she whispers quiet encouragements in her girlfriend’s ear. Alex would never admit to needing it, but she doesn’t have to.

When they’re both somewhat collected again, it’s Alex who knocks the door. Quick footsteps move towards them from the inside, and the lock clicks open. Maggie manages to squeeze the hand in hers before Alex is swept up in a tight hug, their bags dropping onto the deck. Eliza Danvers keeps her arms tight around her daughter for a moment before turning, apparently sizing up the woman in front of her.

‘Maggie Sawyer, it’s an honor to finally meet you Dr Danvers,’ she says, extending her hand. Eliza looks at it and her for a moment longer, before wrapping her arms around Maggie as well. 

‘Just Eliza is fine, dear. It’s a privilege automatically granted when dating one of my children,’ the scientist answer, smile stretching across her face. Maggie sees, Maggie  _ knows  _ how the deep breath that Alex takes is the first since the door opened. 

When they’ve lugged their baggage into Alex’s old room ( _‘Oh. My. God. You surf, Al?’ ‘Surf_ ed _._ _Important distinction.’_ ) and heard Eliza yell about dinner being done in a few hours, they sit down for a moment of peace. 

‘How are you doing, Alex?’ she asks, not because she can’t tell how Alex is quieter and and stiffer and  _ desperate _ , can’t tell how her eyes flicker more than usual, can’t tell how her entire being screams tension and discomfort; no, the reason Maggie asks is because using her words and formulating what she’s feeling, while not one of Alex’s strong suits, always helps her get her feelings reeled in. Dealing with them is for after dinner, right now is just about surviving dinner. 

Laying down and pulling the agent with her, Maggie pushes slightly higher onto the bed so that Alex’s head is on her shoulder, arms protectively encircling the nervous woman. They lay in silence for a moment, Alex gathering her thoughts. Clearly wanting to say something, clearly looking for the right way to say it, she opens and closes her mouth, huffs and looks up.

‘Have I ever told you about the talk I had with Kara, after I came out?’

Maggie shakes her head and waits. 

‘She acted weird around me. Not just  _ big news _ weird but, like,  _ avoid me _ weird,’ Alex’s voice trembles and Maggie holds her tighter, holds her closer. ‘We resolved it, and it was something else entirely but  _ Maggie _ , the feeling before that. The feeling that I had let her down, disappointed or disgusted her, and you know what Kara said? She said  _ I would never be disappointed in you _ , and I just knew she meant it. With my mom, I never get that moment of relief, the  _ good enough  _ moment. It’s always just a cycle of her apologizing and then not changing and it’s…’ 

Alex doesn’t finish her ramble, instead burying her face in Maggie’s neck. Maggie, whose heart is breaking for Alex. Maggie, who knows that things are bad but always thought that Alex’s perfectionism stemmed from Kara alone, not her own mother. 

Maggie who has a hard time keeping her tone civil later at dinner, because the woman she  _ loves  _ (and she’ll tell her, soon) spent the afternoon quietly telling Maggie things she never knew about her. Whose grip on her fork turn white-knuckled when Dr Danvers (Eliza will be her name only once she deserves that kind of casual friendliness) tells her stories of a teenaged Alex.

The kind of stories she really wants to know, but also the kind of stories that leaves her with a bad taste in her mouth because she knows the other side of them. How  _ Alex never really was a social butterfly, she spent most of her time reading and listening to that god-awful music  _ but what she hears is a tentative story of how  _ music and homework was the only way I didn’t get blamed for how Kara had a bad day, or how I wasn’t focused enough on school or both or something else _ . 

It goes that way with all the stories, Maggie’s grip getting tighter and Alex getting quieter, her wine glass emptier. It’s like Dr Danvers has a way to tell exactly the stories Alex told her, but painted in a completely oblivious and happy way, like they haven’t hurt and shaped the woman slightly swaying in her chair, like that hurt isn’t exactly what shaped her.

At one point, Dr Danvers gets a serious face and tells how, just when Supergirl (mentioned like Maggie doesn’t know it’s Kara, hasn’t always known) was about to save the world, Alex was taken over by the alien entity that Maggie still has nightmares about. The woman tells about how she’d gotten there just in the nick of time, but how Alex broke free all on her own.

She sends her daughter, whose glass has been refilled and emptied more times than strictly healthy, an encouraging smile.  _ It makes me sick, Maggie, how she couldn’t reach me without mentioning dad. How screwed up am I, that she alone wasn’t enough? She’s my parent just as much as he i- was. _

Alex doesn’t say anything. She isn’t looking for, isn’t ready for another confrontation. She’s quiet and pale and swaying, and her mother grows tight lipped. It pulls into a frown when her eyes drift to the wine bottle, nearly empty.

‘Alex, I thought this would be easier, would be _over_ , now that you’re happier.’

It’s said in a tone Maggie hasn’t heard on her own mother’s lips more than once or twice in her life, one of them being the last time she ever saw her, and it twists her gut. How intense the disappointment Alex spoke of as  _ casual  _ sounds. Alex doesn’t respond, instead staring at a picture on the wall of herself and Kara, young and grinning. 

‘Let me tell you, Maggie, how we’ve worried for her. It’s gotten better, but I don’t think I’ve seen her stay sober for more than a day in the past decade. I hope you’re looking out for her because-’ 

Maggie doesn’t hear anything past that, because she  _ is  _ looking out for Alex. And this isn’t her normal, not anymore, not for a long time.  _ I had a problem in college. It started out as a casual thing, but it got bad before it got better. It wasn’t her fault but the pressure she put me under, it made me weak enough. Maggie, I really don’t blame her, but she expected me to get a Ph.d in the time it usually takes to get a BA and still look out for Kara. Please don’t think I was weak. Please. _

It’s the first time she is anything but absolutely polite since arriving, but one look on the girl she loves (she  _ loves  _ Alex and she is trying to find the right way to tell her) tells her that she needs refuge. Alex is pale and blank-eyed, and Maggie can’t feel any weakness, can just feel a woman who has been too strong for too long.

‘Excuse me, Dr Danvers, but I’m feeling a bit drowsy. I’m terribly sorry to cut the evening short, but it was a long drive out.’

Still curt in her smile, Dr Danvers nods. ‘But of course, don’t worry about it. I wanted to talk a bit with my daughter anyway.’

Maggie Sawyer is a damn fine detective if she should say so herself, but it doesn’t take one to see how uncomfortable Alex is at the prospect of facing her mother alone at that moment. Getting up and clearing her plate, along with everyone else’s, she re-enters the dining room. Plastering a smile on her face, she looks to the woman who is somewhere near hyperventilating. 

‘Actually, mind if I take her with me? I don’t sleep well without her besides me these days.’

Alex, whose mind is somewhat blurry and tensely apprehensive of the foreboding in her mother’s tone, looks up to see her smiling.

‘But of course, it’s good to see her happy. Sleep well, both of you.’

It’s the first time since arrival that Alex can breathe, the tone so soft, so telling of parental love, that she can physically feel it tug in her chest.

Maggie can too, but for entirely different reasons. She sees the way her girlfriend finds comfort, seeks out these moments of acceptance and acknowledgement, and she can already see how easy it’ll crumble the next time blame or barely concealed disappointment comes her way.

Once Alex is tucked in tightly, quickly sleeping with the wine and a snuggling girlfriend, but the moment she’s completely out, Maggie gets up again and goes down to the kitchen.

‘Maggie, need anything?’

Dr Danvers’ voice is slightly choked.

‘Yeah. I don’t, I don’t usually do these kind of things but I really care about your daughter and I, I need to say something.’

Entering the dining room, Maggie sits down opposite the doctor clearly holding back tears. It takes her back a few steps, suddenly awkward and unsure. The quiet stretches between them, louder than voices could ever be. 

‘Dr Danvers, I-’

‘Please, call me Eliza,’ the older woman says, with a strained voice. With a tired voice.

Maggie gulps and gathers courage, looking intently at a picture of Alex on the wall. On it, she’s young and smiling and wearing a graduation cap. ‘I’m not really comfortable doing that right now,’ she states, turning her gaze directly at her girlfriend’s mother. ‘Dr Danvers, I excessively care for your daughter. I care so much for her I can physically feel it, in every little thing I do. I just, I, uh-’

And the older woman smiles like she knows what she’s about to say, because she is not blind. 

‘I love her, Dr Danvers, with every fiber of my being,’ Maggie says, voice wavering but not hesitating. She picks at the napkin, trying to formulate what to say next. What she needs to convey but she’s a woman of action and  _ god dammit  _ she’s never had to tread so carefully. ‘And it's because of that, because I  _ love  _ Alex, that I have to tell you what she never will; you’re hurting her.’

The doctor stares at her, a thousand emotions flashing through her eyes. Mouth opening and closing before finally, she clears her throat and wipes her eyes. ‘Maggie, I’ve spoken to Alexandra about this in the past and I realize I’ve made some mistakes but I-’

‘ _ Some mistakes _ ?’ Maggie’s voice is so deathly quiet, it shuts the woman opposite up immediately. ‘ _ Some mistakes  _ is when you don’t pick up the phone because it’s on silent and it’s later than your kids usually call.  _ Some mistakes  _ is the time your children accidentally sees you drunk because you tripped over your shoes.  _ Some mistakes  _ is for when it is mistakes that you don’t intend to repeat,” Maggie rambles, and she sees the way that Dr. Danvers’ face falls, and it falls completely flat but she adds a “Dr. Danvers,” to the end of her scolding. 

She realizes that she is scolding her girlfriend’s mom. 

She also realizes that said mom is crying, like for real, now. 

“I don’t mean to minimize all the great, wonderful things you’ve filled her life with. That you’ve given her. But you’re hurting her.”

And it’s small, it’s broken, but Dr. Danvers forces a “I know,” out of her mouth. “I  _ know _ , Maggie.”

They stare at each other. That’s all they do, for a really long time. Dr. Danvers crying and Maggie looking and both of them with a heart thumping in their throat.

“I’m trying.” Dr. Danvers’ voice is soft, cracks halfway through. “I need to be alone right now.”

Maggie nods and makes it to the doorway before her girlfriend’s mom’s voice cuts through the room again. “I love the way you love my daughter, Maggie.”

She nearly protests, nearly points out that they haven’t been together long enough that  _ that _ is something she is allowed to feel, allowed to say. But she feels it. Those four little letters taunting her, nearly falling over her lips over and over again. 

“And I know you love her too, Dr. Danvers, you just need to make sure she knows as well.”

When Alex wakes up the next morning, it’s to Maggie smiling down at her with a cup of coffee, a glass of water, and the sweetest kiss even if her mouth tastes like sewer. Her head pounds mercilessly. 

“You’re the best, Mags,” she says, before the reality of where they are hits her and her smile falls away much faster than it arrived. “Oh god, she’ll have my head for this.”

Maggie manages to talk her into dressing, into coming down to the kitchen, with forehead kisses and cheek kisses and kiss kisses. All very chaste, as soon as they leave the sanctuary of Alex’s room.

In the kitchen, they find Dr. Danvers cooking up a storm. Eggs, fresh bread, even a bowl of assorted vegan snacks for Maggie. Tonnes of things that had most certainly not been in the house the night before.

The centerpiece of it all is a freshly baked blueberry pie. Alex is looking at the whole thing, struck silent. 

“Is, is that blueberry?”

Dr. Danvers turns around from the stove and smiles. “I know it’s your favorite. I had to exchange some ingredients so that your girlfriend can have a piece as well, but I think it turned out rather delicious.”

It’s a pie. It’s Alex’s  _ favorite  _ pie. Maggie sees the tears in her eyes and she suspects that Dr. Danvers does as well, but neither of them comment on it. They give her a moment to breathe. Silently, Maggie wonders how bad you have to ignore someone for them to feel seen via  _ pie _ .

“There’s coffee in the pot, you just dig in.” 

They sit next to each other and Maggie’s hand doesn’t leave Alex’s, don’t stray a single time. Because she can tell from her tense shoulders, from her tight grip, that her girlfriend is waiting. For it to crumble, to be yelled at or have backhanded compliments thrown at her or something.  _ Something _ . 

It doesn’t happen. They have a lovely breakfast and Dr. Danvers keeps complimenting them, both of them, keeps meaning it. 

She asks Alex if she’d like a painkiller for the hangover and Alex freezes. Waits. Tries to breathe. But there’s no hook. Nothing.

“We need to talk, Alexan-” and Dr. Danvers cuts herself off “-Alex.”

Maggie sees the panic, Maggie keeps holding her girlfriend’s hand (as if she has a choice, Alex’s hand holding hers in a vice grip) and Maggie breathes deeply. Breathes deep enough that she doesn’t have to say it out loud, that Alex does the same out of pure habit.

“Your girlfriend gave me a stern talking to yesterday.” Alex looks incredulously at Maggie, who shrugs like her heart hasn’t tripled in thumps against her ribcage. As if it isn’t slowly moving up her throat. She barely makes it to panicking at the prospect of having overstepped before Eliza is speaking again. 

“I needed it, Alex. I know I haven’t always been…” and she pauses, thinks, allows the tears to shine so that her daughter will see that she means it. She hopes. “A force of good, in your life. I know. I expected you to be a parent to Kara, hell, sometimes the only one. But I want to do better. And Maggie, she said exactly what I needed to hear. I know that it doesn’t right any of my wrongs, and  _ god  _ there’s so many, but I stayed up all night thinking about it before I realized that this needs to happen on your terms, Alex,” and Dr. Danvers is slightly rambling, but it’s okay. 

It’s okay because Alex is crying, but for once that might be a good thing, a healthy thing. 

“You don’t have to know what they are right now, but let me know and I’ll follow them, whatever they are. I love you, Alex, but I want that to be a good thing. For both of us.”

Maggie leaves the room, leaves them to talk. Cries a bit, too. In that moment, she misses her own parents, if only a bit. Misses having parents at all. But she also feels fondness swell at the women next door. The one she hopes to marry (some day. Some day, she’ll marry Alex Danvers) and the one she hopes will keep her promises.

Alex fetches her, at some point, hugging her so, so tight. 

“We’re going home now, Mags.”

Dr. Danvers sees them off, wishes them a good trip. Alex had explained while they packed, that the two of them had agreed that it was good to talk, that they will mend, but also that Alex needs a little time. A little time without contact, to think things through. 

That she will write, or call, or maybe even visit, when she is ready.

Dr. Danvers hugs her daughter tight, whispers something that has both of them smiling, watery eyes and an extra hug afterwards.

Then, the older woman turns to Maggie. Hugs her just as tight. “Thank you,” she whispers and releases her death grip.

“I love your daughter, Eliza. She’s the only one that matters.”

And Eliza laughs at the way her daughter’s eyes widen, the way she stammers, blushes. Eliza also closes the door, a little for their sake and mostly for her own. 


End file.
